Sharp Edges: An Urban Gay Romance

by Moreau, Lenore

  In the end, I lay and think for a couple hours. But I didn't really need to think. I knew it the whole time. I guess part of me's always known it. Maybe I've fucked things up too much. Maybe he's never going to forgive me. But I've gotta try. Good things are hard to hold on to in Upper East. You have to grab every chance you get and hold on with everything you can. If he says no, I'll move on. But if he doesn't... fuck, it could be worth it. I eat my dinner in silence, daring any of my siblings to say something. They don't, although I swear I see a few private looks pass between them. I grab a jacket and head out.

  "You going to get him back?" Lina calls.

  "Fuck off," I answer. My brothers cheer and I glare at them each in turn until they shut the fuck up. Then I leave without another word. I bang on the door until someone answers, but it's not Oliver. It's Starla. She gives me a strained, nervous smile.

  "Hello, ma'am, is Oliver here?" I ask. She shakes her head.

  "No. Said he was going to get a drink. I don't know where."

  "Thanks," I say. I know where. I practically run to the bar, not caring who sees me. The Concord sign's like a beacon, guiding me in to where I need to go. I spot him in the back in his usual corner alone, a beer in his hand. I sigh with relief. I don't know what the fuck I would have done if he wasn't there. Maybe lost my nerve. I walk over to him as he looks at me, wary. I'm smiling. Just seeing him makes me smile, and then I know I'm doing the right thing. If this goes wrong, it will be worth it just to see him one more time.

  "What's up, Gio?" he asks.

  "I need to talk to you." He gives me a hard look.

  "Look, Gio, I really don't want to talk to you right now. I need to get over some shit first."

  "Wait." I frown. I trace the grain of the table, gathering every fucking ounce of courage in my blood. I still don't know if it'll be enough. Suddenly I'm very aware that everyone in the bar is looking at me. Fucking fine. Let them look. I'm sick of hiding everything about who I am for the sake of keeping peace with my dad. And I already beat his ass recently, so I figure I'm fucked either way. What matters now is Oliver. And I know this is my last shot.

  "I've got to tell you something. Something I just figured out. And I haven't said it out loud. To anyone." He nods, waiting with an eyebrow cocked. I take a deep breath. "I'm gay. Like. I think I'm really fucking gay. I'm talking full-fag, rainbow wings and cosmos gay." I've got his full attention now. His eyes widen slightly, and I feel more eyes turn my way. I raise my voice. "I'm gay, Oliver. And I'm- fuck." I can't say the last part. It gets caught in my throat. I look at him pleadingly, waiting for him to say something. He just waits, his lips parted slightly. I sigh. "I'm really into you," I finish lamely. Not what I was thinking.

  I wait. He sits. He's going to tell me I blew my chance. Tell me that he's with Dave now and he couldn't be happier. At least then I could punch Dave again. But then so slowly he barely moves he gets to his feet. My breath catches in my throat as we look at each other eye to eye. Then his hand wraps around the back of my neck and pulls my lips to his. If I died right now, I'd die happy. He kisses me hard, his teeth brushing against my bottom lip. My arms fall around him. I want him close to me. Closer to me. Now that I can finally have him I can't get enough. He pulls away too soon. The world slides back into focus, and I hear murmuring around us. My teeth clench together. If I have to fight my way out of here, I will. I'm not afraid of any of these fucking booze-hounds.

  Someone yells, "Get it, Caruso." A few others laugh. Then normal conversations resume and my shoulders sag. I look up into those stupidly green eyes. I'm still fucking grinning. It's like his grin fell off his face and onto mine. Nobody gives a shit. I wouldn't have cared if they had, but it's nice to know.

  "C'mon," he says. He takes my hand and my instinct is still to pull back. But I don't. Our fingers lock together like a real fucking couple and I could be sick. Way too fucking sweet. And I'm still fucking smiling, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. We step into the street toward his house and just for a moment, I think maybe things will be okay. His hand is warm and damp under mine, but I don't care. It's his hand. He's touching me. He doesn't hate me. Then my dad hops out of his buddy's truck and I remember- Upper East isn't fucking Disney Land.

  20

  My father stands there beside the truck, staring me down. His face is bright red, and he's got bruises all over. I caused those bruises, I think with a flash of pride. He's snarling at us, apparently too pissed off to speak, and he's got a long piece of metal in his hands. Crowbar my mind supplies helpfully. Doesn't fucking matter what it's called. It's huge, heavy, and metal and it's going to be what kills me. Sooner rather than later. A piece of spittle hangs from his bottom lip, threatening to drip. He looks fucking deranged, like those pictures of people before their lobotomies. I step firmly in front of Oliver, pushing him backward with my elbow.

  "Run-" I hiss. His arm brushes briefly against my waist and he steps beside me, facing the street where my father, looking like a demon from hell, is approaching us. The other guy's getting out of the car too. I catch his movement from the corner of my eye, but can't look at him. I can't look at Oliver either. All I can do is watch my dad. It's like something out of a shitty western. We stare at each other, our eyes saying everything our lips haven't yet said. "Get the fuck out of here, Oliver, or you're going to die."

  "I'm not leaving you," Oliver says stubbornly. I roll my eyes. If he doesn't leave, he's dead. My dad probably won't kill me. Probably. I put my arm out in front of Oliver, shoving him back. I'll stand in front of him and he can hide under my dead body once I'm gone. My dad slowly takes a step forward. Then another. His boots are packed with mud, leaving a sick squelching sound with every step he takes. His eyes are wet and wild, darting from me to Oliver with deft precision.

  "You fucking faggots. Walking down the street- no fucking shame. I'm going to teach you a lesson, boy. A lesson I should have taught you a long fucking time ago." He takes another step. The metal bar gleams menacingly in the dimming light. My pulse is racing. My eyes are probably as crazy as his, and I'm not the one on meth. I don't fucking care anymore. He's not touching Oliver. If he does, I'll kill him with my fucking bare hands. With my last breath.

  "Yeah, you know what? I am a faggot. And I'm good with that. And so is everyone else in the twenty-first fucking century, you fucking ignorant dickhole."

  I take a step forward, keeping my arm out. If Oliver tries any brave shit, he'll get hurt, so I've got to keep him behind me. My father the monster is only feet away now. He's sneering and leering all at once, the perfect picture of insanity. I reach an arm out to grab the metal, but I'm too slow. His hand grips my wrist. I'm caught. He swings the crowbar down hard. My arm tries to snap up, tries to block my face. But his hand holds my wrist down. A sickening crack echoes through the air. I scream. Arm falls to my side. I push him back with my good arm. Blood rushes, warm liquid. Sharp pain's gone. Adrenaline. Good.

  "You're no son of mine. Your fucking whore of a mother must have found some faggot in the street and got him to give it to her. You're a fucking freak of nature. And I'm going to put you out of your misery." I stare him down. This is it. The last moment. My last moment. Time slows. I glance around the street, ignoring the horrified bystanders watching. My eyes lock on Oliver's, and for just a second, I'm glad he's there. I'm glad the last thing I see will be green. Maybe once I'm dead, he'll run. Maybe he'll still get out of this okay. I give him the most convincing smile I can muster, then turn back to my father.

  He raises the crowbar again and I stare at him, defiant. If I'm going to die, I'm going to fucking watch my end come like a man. My arm dangles uselessly at my side. The air rushes as the bar swings down, and I'm ready. Something huge and heavy crashes into me, pushing me to the ground, away from the bar. My arm explodes into pain as it makes contact with the asphalt, and I yelp. I glance up in shock to see Oliver's face. Oliver jumps back up and runs back. I watch my father, my heart racing. Momentum carries him forward and the bar clangs
on the curb instead of onto my head. Oliver kicks his back hard. He goes down. A blur rushes past me. The friend. Fuck. But to my shock, he barrels past me and grabs my dad's arm. Oliver's on his legs before I blink. I jump to my feet and stumble unsteadily forward. Every step aches. I ignore the pain as I push all of my weight onto his other arm, effectively holding him still. My heart pounds through my arm. Everything hurts. I'm alive.

  "I called the cops," the friend- Tommy something- says. "The fuck are you doing, Brett? You could have killed him. He's gay, it's not like he stole your TV. That’s your fucking flesh and blood."

  My dad makes gargled sounds of fury, struggling beneath our hold. My eyes meet Oliver's, bright, elated. I'm not dead. Not yet, anyway. I'm fucking alive. Oliver's fucking alive, and we're alive together. Fuck. We sit in silence until the cops arrive and cuff my dad, pulling him into a car. He doesn't look away from me. There's so much anger there that I nearly take a step back despite the pigs and glass between us. This is a temporary solution. When he gets out...

  "You okay?" Tommy asks us. The pain is starting to hit hard now. My arms tremble. My legs tremble. I don't want to look down. I can't move my fingers. The cops wanted to call an ambulance, but who can afford that shit?

  "Been better," I mumble just as my knees give out. Oliver's arm snakes around my waist, catching me at the last moment.

  "I'll give you a ride to the hospital. Get in," Tommy says. His voice shakes. His jaw is set hard, but he's not pissed at us. That's good, at least. He's not going to kill us and shove us in an ally somewhere. At least he's probably not going to.

  Oliver half-carries me to the truck, his face pale. He lifts me up and pushes me onto the seat. He hops up beside me and we squish together in the front seat. Oliver rubs my back, looking concerned. I let my arm fall to my lap and finally look at it. I shouldn't have fucking looked. It's bent at an unnatural angle and through the blood, I can make out a shard of jagged white. It looks surreal, like something out of a horror movie. I can't believe Oliver's sitting so close to me.

  "Fuck," I say, glancing away. I feel sick and dizzy, and my head spins. Oliver's hand is the only thing keeping me in my seat. I desperately need a distraction from the carnage that used to be my arm. I can't get the picture out of my mind.

  "Why'd you help us?" I ask abruptly.

  "My son's gay," Tommy says, jaw hard. It's practically jutting out from his face. He looks straight ahead. "And to be honest, Brett's been a fucking liability for us lately. There was talk of kicking him out. Or taking him out. He's a cunt. No offense."

  "Do I look fuckin' offended?" I ask, grinning. He grins back. Fucking crazy how contagious smiling can be when you're happy. Fucking crazy how I'm smiling with a mangled arm. It hurts like a fucking bitch. I keep my gaze as far from it as I possibly can.

  "Thanks," Oliver says, looking at Tommy. "You saved his life, you know. Mine too, probably."

  "He was holding," Tommy says, a grim smile on his face. "And packing. He's going away for a long time. Plus somebody made an anonymous tip that he was looking to distribute. Don't know if they'll find anything, but if they do... That's at least another couple years. He was running from the cops when he saw you." He turns to me. "You're going to have a lot of time to think about what you want to do next."

  "Yeah," I say through a grimace. I lean into Oliver, feeling his warmth seeping into my skin. His arms feel great. Why the fuck did I put this off for so long? "Seriously, man. Thank you. I fucking owe you one."

  "You don't owe me shit," he says, his ears turning red. "It's what I'd want somebody to do for my kid. You know it's not a big deal to be a homo these days. Everybody knows one. Most people won't give ya too much shit. Don't take anything that asshole said to heart."

  "That's what I've been seein'." It's true. Lina's annoying as fuck, but none of my siblings were dicks about it, or even acted that surprised. And as annoying as Lina is, she was sweet too. I'll give her that, even if I never say it out loud. Fucking everyone knew before me. "Look, seriously, if you ever need a favor- or anything. Please-"

  "I'll find ya, kid." His lips trend upwards, then fall back to neutral. "How a kid like you came from a guy like your dad, I'll never know. You seem like a good guy." I lay my head on Oliver's shoulder and look up at him. He's drawn and pale, and he keeps looking at me like I'm gonna break in half. I grin at him.

  "I'm fine. It's not that bad. Nothing a little Percocet won't fix." He strokes my neck absently and I lean into his fingers.

  "He could have killed you, Gio. I was worried you were gonna die. Why'd you stand in front of me like that?" I roll my eyes.

  "Because I was worried you were gonna die." He shakes his head at me and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold out the pain. He runs his hand through my hair. That helps. Him touching me helps. "I can't believe you jumped in front of me like that. What if he hadn't missed? You would have had your neck snapped."

  "Woulda been worth it."

  "You idiot," I say. I feel his smile above me.

  By the time we get to the hospital, I'm biting my lip to keep from screaming. Adrenaline's a hell of a pain-killer and most of mine's gone now. My brain's firing at all these crazy intervals and my body doesn't know how to handle it besides to scream with pain. Oliver half-carries me through the door, giving Tommy a wave of thanks as we leave. The doctors take me back right away, and I almost black out as they reset my arm. The world gets fuzzy and the only thing tethering me is Oliver's hand.

  I swallow a few pills and lay down on the bed while they put a cast on me. The whole process seems to take years, and I can't get a solid thought through my head the whole time. I never let go of Oliver, and he doesn't complain even when I nearly crush every bone in his hand. Finally, I'm deemed safe to go home. The pain meds have me feeling loopy. I love it. The pain's finally dulled. I'm asleep before we get home. Oliver must have carried me in, because when I wake, I'm in his bed, and his body is curled up against mine. I smile for just a moment, then drift back to sleep.

  21

  It's been four days since I broke my arm, and Oliver still won't fuck me. Doesn't want to hurt me. The fucker. I'm getting desperate. It's hurting me more not to have sex than it would to do it. This isn't fucking fair. He's walking around our bedroom shirtless, his fucking perfect body on display, in the tightest boxers I've ever seen. I can't stop staring. He's doing it on purpose. I just know it. Teasing me is his favorite thing to do.

  "Y'know, I'm not an invalid. I'm allowed to do stuff. Even the doctor said so. Fuck, even like the dishes or something. Give me something to do."

  "You can look pretty," he says innocently. I flip him off and reach out with my good arm, pulling him to the bed. He climbs on top of me and runs a hand over my chest, pausing to pinch my nipple. I yelp. "You're incorrigible. You know that?"

  "I have no fucking clue what that means, but if it means horny, yes. Yes, I am." His eyes crinkle up with amusement. I grab his ass and squeeze, feeling the pull of his muscles under the thin fabric. My hand moves leisurely down to his cock, which is half-hard already. "What do we have here?"

  "It's a penis, Gio." I stick my tongue in his ear just to spite him. He pulls back and glares at me. "Do you want to get fucked or not?"

  "God yes," I mutter.

  "Then be good." I scowl but don't argue. He rewards me with a long kiss. My pants are off in ten seconds flat. Pretty impressive what a one-armed man can do when he wants to get laid. His fingers gently wrap around my throat, stroking my skin until I'm so sensitive it aches. "Poor baby. It's been a while since you had a dry spell, huh?"

  "It's all your fault," I murmur, but the annoyance is gone from my voice. How could I be annoyed when I'm stroking Oliver's cock, when his hands are all over me when his other hand is sinking lower and lower until he's inches away from my cock.

  "It's whose fault?" he asks. His hand hovers above me, waiting.

  "Yours," I say, arching my hips up in an attempt to get some contact. He pulls back and grins at me.
Stupid asshole.

  "Whose?"

  "Nobody's. Now fucking touch me, already," I grumble. He does and I almost explode right there. I gasp at how intense it is, and Oliver laughs at me.

  "Four days is an eternity for us, huh? Next time don't break your arm." I roll my eyes.

  "Yeah, my bad. I'll break yours instead next time." I lose myself in sensation, my hips pressing up to push into his hand, my hand stroking him, feeling him harden. He pulls off and I let out a pathetically high-pitched sound at the loss. He gives me a fond grin and situates himself between my legs.

  "You ever been rimmed before?"

  "No?" I say. "You know you're the only guy I've fucked. I don't even know what the hell that means."

  "How about I show you?" I crane my neck to see what he's doing as he pushes my thighs apart and lifts them onto his shoulders. I swallow nervously.

  "Is it like a weird blow job?"

  "You'll see," he grins. His face disappears. I feel his tongue on my balls, but then it slips lower. I gasp as it hits my hole, warm and wet. It's like nothing I've ever felt before as he pushes it into me. It's soft, teasing almost, licking me inside. Part of me still wants to pull away. It's weirdly intimate. Intimacy is a hard thing for me. Still, it feels amazing. My thighs push together, holding Oliver's head in place. My own head falls back onto the pillow, my eyes squinting shut as his hand wraps back around my cock. I gasp, thrusting up unconsciously. He goes at it for what feels like hours. When he finally pulls back I'm trembling and desperate.